


Never had friends, never had ends, never had hope

by DingyAntelope58



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) is a Dork, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Australian Adora (She-Ra), Based on Ghost Recon Wildlands, Bisexual Bow (She-Ra), Bisexual Glimmer (She-Ra), Blood and Injury, Bolivian Catra (She-Ra), Bolivian Culture, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Cocaine, English Bow (She-Ra), F/F, F/M, Glimmer (She-Ra) Swears, Human Catra (She-Ra), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Latina Catra (She-Ra), Lesbian Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Catra (She-Ra), Lesbian Character, Lesbian Disaster Adora (She-Ra), Making Out, Massachusetts Glimmer (She-Ra), Military, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Poor Catra (She-Ra), Religion, Santa Blanca, Santa Muerte, Secret Relationship, smut? maybe. who could possibly know teehee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DingyAntelope58/pseuds/DingyAntelope58
Summary: “I’m sure you’ve seen the horrible, fucked-up shit humans are capable of when there are zero repercussions” Mermista says gravely, scratching at the back of her hand with black painted nails and staring at the floor. The group all nods. They’re experienced soldiers, on special operations and often illegal and unrecorded missions. They’ve seen that “fucked up shit” all right.“But let me tell you right now, no matter how you compartmentalise, how you desensitise, you can’t prepare for El Sueño” she chokes out the last few words, and Adora furrows her brow and moves her bandana higher on her nose, tightening it at the back of her head.---Adora Greyskull is one of the most qualified special operations agents in the world, and as such is assigned a mission with three other Alliance soldiers to dismantle the Santa Blanca cartel that has seized the Bolivian government and is terrorising it's people.Really fucking sucks that no one told her the new Alliance agent from Bolivia with a troubled past and heterochromatic eyes was so incredibly amazingly beautiful.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Catra & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora & Mermista (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1. I'm just looking for one divine hammer

**Author's Note:**

> LOL if y'all wanna see some pictures of the characters, I actually created them with the Ghost Recon Wildlands appearance menu and still play the game as that squad. Just DM me at DingyAntelope58#2911 on Discord
> 
> If any dialogue is between these nifty symbols < > and in italics it is a translation of another language for your convenience! There will also be an asterisk endnote for the language being spoken. This is the standard format in Marvel comics and that's why I use it.

Adora clears her throat, staring out the open bay of the cargo helicopter. Her rifle is cradled in her arms, held tightly so as to avoid getting it torn away from her by the wind and rain battering the occupants.

“The agent they murdered. You knew her?” Adora asks, turning to the woman beside her. Dressed in a leather jacket, jeans and face uncovered, it’s clear that she’s not a soldier like the rest of them.

“She was a friend of mine” she says, while Adora is grateful for the headset that cut above the sound of helicopter blades and tropical storms. Feeling rather lost on something comforting to say to the handler, she turns away and clears her throat. Again. Like an idiot.

“Sorry for your loss” she says quietly, cringing at her own words. There’s a few seconds of silence before the agent laughs bitterly and stared out at the star filled night sky.

“I could say it comes with the job but it doesn’t get any easier” she says mournfully. The blonde turns to the black expanse on her side of the helicopter, finding a plethora of twinkling stars, brighter than any city lights and unpolluted. For someone who had grown up in the city, it might be unusual, but Adora has grown up on the most rural of rural properties, where even today there was no cell service and the milky way streaked across the sky every night.

“No. It doesn’t” she chuckles, as the helicopter tilts sideways and she leans back in her seat. “Guess you’ve been down here a while” she says again, hoping to keep the conversation moving.

“I’ve been living as Mermista Samudra, international aid worker for just about five years. Means living rough, but as a cover, gets me out and about” she says, as Adora mentally repeats 5 different facts about the woman while using her full name to memorise it.

“At least comes with a chopper” she jokes, shuffling backwards into the seat.

“How did you get into the country?” the agent named Hunter across from her asks, AR goggles glowing in the dark light of the cabin. He looks tall and strong, and he’s absolutely dripping in electrical equipment and technology. There’s even a radio antenna sticking out of his backpack. His accent is blatantly British, and Adora already plans 4 Pom jokes and a taunt about the cricket world cup.

‘I flew in business class from Brisbane, I’m refreshed and ready for work, right?” Adora answers, winking at Mermista. It might have been a trick of the red lights in the chopper, but it appears that the handler blushes as she turns away.

“I just hitched rides from Barranco, peru” he says. He turns in his seat to talk to the woman in the cockpit, the shortest and most fearsome of the lot Adora has yet to meet. “How about you?” he asks, and the woman laughs loudly enough that it hurts Adora’s ears.

“I got on board a bus in Jujuy Argentina and drank all the way to Yaquiba. Nobody wants to deal with a drunk on the bus” Agent Flash says proudly. Adora can barely stifle a laugh at the explanation of a strategy that wouldn’t exactly be called _conventional_.

“That explains the awful fucken smell” the British sniper says loudly as lightning strikes the ground in the distance. The helicopter continues on it’s journey, as Adora takes off her glasses and bandana to wipe the water and rain off her face.

“I’ve heard rumours about you guys” Mermista says, after a good 10 minutes or so of silence. “I was a rookie field officer in Moscow when the coup went down, there was talk you were involved?” she asked, as the squad stayed silent. It soon became suspicious how little talking there was and Adora resolved to say something.

“Yeah, that must’ve been someone else mate. We were never there” she says, winking at the man opposite her until they’re both stifling laughter.

“It’s not every day you get to meet an urban legend in the flesh” Mermista says, humour obvious in her tone, but the underlying purr makes Adora blink and stare into space for a few moments. _Is this flirting? Is she flirting? Pretty sure that’s a massive breach of conduct and protocol. Just ignore it._

“You should tell that to my brother, maybe he’d listen when I tell him to stop having surprise and unplanned visits to my house at 3am” she jokes, as bow turns to her and _giggles_ slightly. _Okay. Processing. Note taken._

“Is it hard being someone who doesn’t officially exist?” she asks, as Adora bites down a strongly worded comment. _Cunt is not in the regular vocabulary of Americans. Don’t use it in a friendly way._

“You tell me, Mermista Samudra, international aid worker” she responds dryly, turning to the woman and grinning at her beneath the bandana. The lush jungle wetlands beneath them disappear a few minutes later, giving way to huge evergreen forests of trees so tall that Adora can see the leaves atop them even from the helicopter.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the horrible, fucked up, shit humans are capable of when there are zero repercussions” Mermista says gravely, scratching at the back of her hand with black painted nails and staring at the floor. The group all nods. They’re experienced soldiers, on special operations and often illegal and unrecorded missions. They’ve seen that “fucked up shit” all right.

“But let me tell you right now, no matter how you compartmentalise, how you desensitise, you can’t prepare for El Sueño” she chokes out the last few words, and Adora furrows her brow and moves her mask higher on her nose, tightening it at the back of her head.

“He’s got a religious streak that rates pretty close to delusional. He’s taking down the poverty and chastity. If he’s not in it for the church or the money then he’s in it for the power. This joint task force CIA-DEA-AISOC, I’m your resident spook for this ride. Welcome to Operation Kingslayer” she says, holding out her arms in a sick parody. Adora grimaces at the description of the Santa Blanca cartel leader. _Delusional. Exactly what I want a drug lord who’s murdered thousands of people and seized the Bolivian government to be_ Adora jokes to herself, before remembering a key part of the mission.

“Our briefing said there’d be a contingent of locals and an agent in our group already on the ground?” she asks, as Mermista sighs loudly and turns back to her, gripping the seat tightly as lightning strikes the ground again.

“The Kataris 26. They’re a group of rebels who’ve been giving UNIDAD and Santa Blanca some resistance. We’ll meet their leader Pac Katari and Alliance Agent Weaver as soon as we touch down” she explains, as Adora spins the words through her head a few times.

“The Bolivians have a long history of hating us Yankees, but this time let’s hope the enemy of my enemy will be my friend” she jokes, as the helicopter starts to descend steadily.

“Well jokes on you mate, I’m not a Yankee. And neither is tea with crumpets over there” Adora laughs, thumping the British agent’s back as he loudly protests.

“But don’t turn your back on Katari. I’m not going to” Mermista mutters as Adora finally spies their target. A tiny stone brick, mud and concrete building on the edge of a hill, surrounded by locals with cheap and aged rifles and a collection of random vehicles. As Adora jumps from the helicopter, followed by the three passengers, she spies a man in green uniform, the indigenous flag of Bolivian tribes shining on his left shoulder and face masked by a netted hat. Next to him stands a fairly short woman dressed in dark reds and blacks, with dark skin that glows in the warm lamplight and heterochromatic eyes that have Adora nearly stumbling. _Hnnnnnn while didn’t Mermista tell me the agent was hot._

“3 soldiers and a traitor to the cartel. This is the help you promised? That Stevenson promised? A single _yanqui_ dies, so you send a handful of soldiers. Hundreds of Bolivians have died from Santa Blanca’s bullets, where wil-” Adora immediately starts to tune him out, internally sighing. _Why are the fragile alliances always with massive fuck-nuggets?_ The woman beside him glowers at the speech, shoulders tensing. The “traitor to the cartel” must be her.

“As Ghost agents, we aren’t here, remember? These soldiers are the best covert ops team the Alliance International Special Operations Command has to offer. With their help you won’t need hundreds of soldiers” Mermista says, voice unyielding and condescending. Adora feels glad that her handler has the common sense to defend her troops, a nice change of pace from previous officers.

“Are you familiar with the word _hubris_ , Senora Samudra?” he sneers, as the agent rolls her eyes beneath her dark-framed ballistic goggles and winks at Adora. _I cannot be having heart palpitations at age 32 because of a pretty lady_ Adora repeats to quell the rapid hammering in her chest and shortness of breath.

“Meet Pac Katari, leader of the resistance group Kataris 26. We will be working with the rebels to destabilise Santa Blanca’s organisation” Mermista says impatiently, and Adora is grateful for the transition to productive conversations. “They’ve been fighting Santa Blanca and corrupt Bolivian forces for nearly six years now. We’ll need to coordinate targets” she finishes, as Adora turns around, checking that the other two agents who arrived with her are keeping an eye on the area.

“There is no time for this. We have information on Amaru’s whereabouts” Katari almost growls, and Adora is feeling very tempted to punch him.

“Amaru? You found him?” Mermista repeats, and Adora winces at the realisation that she has missed a key player in this game. Mermista turns to Adora, seemingly tuned into her confusion. “Amaru is one of the founders of the Kataris 26” she explains, and Adora nods twice.

“More than that. Our group is founded on his ideals. Without his theories of an agrarian proletariat there-“ Adora tumbles some of the words around in her head, realising with a disappointed thought that most of them are completely unfamiliar to her.

“Where is he?” Mermista asks, jolting Adora from her mental tangent of trying to understand all of the dramatic adjectives and political jargon Kataris is using.

“We do not know exactly. We know that he is in this province and that there is a Santa Blanca lieutenant who knows where he is” Kataris explains as Adora sighs and flicks several droplets of water off her hat, resolutely not looking anywhere near Mermista as she realises that there are multiple drops of rain water dripping from her face and neck into her shirt, glowing in the lamplight.

“I’ll put a call into the activity, see if they can dig more intel out of the airwaves” she groans, rubbing at her eyes in obvious exhaustion. “Start looking for that lieutenant and keep me informed of everything via SAP phone. Good hunting” she says to Adora, who nods resolutely and gestures to Hawk and Midas, who move closer, while still clearly alert and awake.

“Saving Amaru is important to our cause, _yanqui_. Make sure you don’t kill the Santa Blanca lieutenant before you get the chance to ask him questions” Katari orders before disappearing into the building with Mermista, who waves a final time. Adora sighs deeply, staring at the muddy ground as rain continues to drip down her face.

“I’m not a fucking Yankee” she says aloud, as the three other soldiers snicker loudly.


	2. You're not a gang member, you's a tourist (You been runnin' through my mind all day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting sooner aaaaah. I made some changes to the plot, played more Wildlands, got Far Cry 5 (which I'm enjoying), and wrote a huge piece comparing Eden's Gate to Santa Blanca. 
> 
> I'm going to write a sequel where the Best Friend Squad is sent to Blue Sky Montana to take down Eden's Gate and they are LGBT+ sinners as everyone should aspire to be.
> 
> This won't be the entire linear plot of Wildlands as a story, because that's   
> 1: going to take forever  
> 2: I'd have to google and transcribe almost every cutscene  
> 3: Isn't great story material  
> Instead it's going to be snippets from moments where I focus on building characters, themes and settings.
> 
> Also the title of this chapter is from The Ways and King's Dead from the Black Panther soundtrack because all my chapter titles are lyrics lmao

“It’s quite a nice night, agent Nomad. We’ve yet to talk, actually” Catra smirks, flicking on a portable gas stove with a single finger and watching the blue flames jump into existence. The secluded forest cabin is cozy, safe, simple. It overlooks entire fields of coca leaves, and in the midday sun they can watch hundreds of cocaleros spend hours picking the precious leaves and dry them. The area still reeks of chemicals, and when Nomad asked about the mysteriously dead flora and fauna near the creeks and rivers, the local explained how the runoff from cocaine production and chemical mixing atop the mountain had poisoned the forest and left Pachamama’s Scars to stay for decades. The lights are all flicked off, two matte-painted rifles are propped up in the window (scopes removed to avoid the shine being spotted), and Nomad props her feet up on the ancient green table, leaning back on the chair.

“No, not since I decided that Katari actually deserved a punching and mourned the missed opportunity” the blonde says quietly, but her tone suggests that she’s grinning widely under the ugly bandana. Catra laughs and pours a whole tin of salted meat and a bag of dried vegetable chunks into a metal pot and stirs it, the delicious smell making her stomach gurgle.

“So you did see my ‘eye roll’ and annoyed look?” she asks, as the soldier’s chair creaks. A woodland creature cries out in the wilderness, but Catra has spent enough of her life outside— _escaping, hiding, hoping_ —that she can recognise what is a real creature and what is attackers.

“It was very amusing stuff” Nomad hums, as Catra stares into the pot of emergency ration soup and sighs.

“We've spent 21 hours sneaking here, and we’re going to be here for 2 more days. Did you bring anything to do?” the operative asks, taking two porcelain cups from the cupboard and scratching at an itching scar under her elbow. She’s kind of hoping that Nomad says either of their names, but that’s a stupid fucking thing to hope for and _they are on mission right now._

“We could actually talk. I still don’t know your real name. And this is a wild thought, but I’m guessing that you have a super tragic and endearing backstory that gives you a huge appeal. Would I be right mate?” the agent asks. Catra stares at her for a few moments before barking out a laugh so loud that Nomad flinches.

“You have excellent deduction skills. But I’m not sharing any of my past with a _gringa_ ” she mocks, as Nomad sputters and mutters insults under her breath.

“I’m not American, Weaver. Bloody hell, you know I’m Australian!” she says, as Catra cackles and hands her a mug of barely-edible soup. Teasing the foreign agent is amusing, and Catra enjoys riling up an attractive woman like her.

“Just eat you idiot” she snickers, pulling off her beanie and balaclava and inhaling a lungful of warm soup smell. She spots Nomad curiously peering at her face and frowns, as the warrior turns away. She knows that she was staring at her scar, the one that pulls at her upper lip and exposes a shining canine tooth. _Tejedora de sombras_ Had always mocked her for the wound, saying it looked like she constantly had a fang poking out from her upper lip. It was the humiliating injury that had earned her the name Catra at age 9. Shaking her head to clear the memory, she notices that Nomad still has her bandana and cross com glasses on, and Catra gestures to both of the items with a grin.

“You can’t eat wearing those. Glasses fog up and bandanas get covered in food” she says, as the blonde makes an offended scoff and pulls them off. Her eyes are piercing blue, like a sniper scope reflecting the midday sky, or the moonlight shining in the _Agua Verde_ lagoons and coastal water. Her lips looks soft and are unmarred by scars, unlike the curving red line that runs from her temple to her cheekbone. Nomad takes a sip of soup, humming in appreciation. Catra should hate the validation of a random foreign agent with pretty blue eyes but she wants more and heat is settling in her lower stomach and her heart. Fucking hell.

“So Weaver. Got a name I can use elsewhere?” Nomad asks, winking at her. Catra sighs and moves away from the benchtop she was leaning against, laying her submachine gun out on the table to clean the parts.

“Catra” she says quietly, staring at the faded statue of _Santisima Muerta_ that sits in it’s pathetic glory on the mantlepiece. How many people had she shot for that deity? How many assassinations, infiltrations, murders, violence and destruction had she committed or caused because of one fictional spirit she’d been told would bring her happiness? True happiness came from _control_ , from _freedom_ , from doing _good things_ with her life.

“- I said Adora. Are you listening?” the agent asks, and she flinches as several droplets of soup go sloshing onto the brick floor.

“Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts” she mutters while shoving the beanie lopsidedly onto the crown of her head, as Adora smiles weakly and pats her shoulder.

“It happens to the best of us, Catra. It’s a career specific thing” she jokes, and Catra grips her hand before it can move off her shoulder.

“How is Bow tracking the target?” Catra asks, and Adora shapes her right hand into a pistol and places it on her chin while she thinks. (white people are so weird. Catra could spend another 5 years studying foreign culture and still not understand it).

“ _El Emisario’s_ assistant is going to drive to the cocaine lab just downhill in 2 days to check on production standards and output requirements in person. We quietly and quickly kill all the _sicarios_ working here before he arrives, capture him, and interrogate him for the cocaine factory entry codes. Then we go to the cocaine factory, blow up the current cocaine stocks and sabotage the equipment and insert a digital virus into it’s main computer” Adora recites, checking her watch. Catra sits down on the bed, huffing slightly and reclining against the bedframe. It creaks loudly and a large hunting spider scuttles out from behind it, sprinting upwards along the wall. Adora passively watches it as it moves, sighing when it freezes halfway between the ceiling and a cupboard.

“We used to get spiders like that, where I grew up. Haven’t been there in years” Adora says sadly, reaching up to take the creature in her hands. She carefully moves her hands to keep it from falling to the floor or climbing up her sleeves, and Catra feels entranced by the calm understanding she shows for the creature. The soldier gently releases it on the concrete floor, where it disappears under the wooden furniture. She stands up, brushing her bare hands down on her brown pants and sitting down in her chair. Thoughts plow through Catra’s head at an extreme pace, her vision blanking as she sifts through blood-stained memories that make her tense and the warm ones of other girls in her bed with her at night when she had the freedom.

“Why did you become a Ghost?” Catra blurts, arms crossed and staring at the coarse bedsheets. Adora freezes from across the room where she is making two cups of tea, and Catra internally scolds herself for lacking focus or alertness.

“I joined the army for family reasons. My family always hated war and violence. It was pure spite that made me sneak out when I was 19 and join the ADF” she laughs bitterly, steeping two teabags in metal mugs. “Me and my father disagreed on issues, especially some personal ones. After 19 months deployment I left after a nasty conflict and some questionable things that happened in the platoon. I wandered the world for a while, ended up in Germany doing legal mercenary work. I was contacted about joining Rainbow-” Catra interrupts her with a gagging noise and Adora stops suddenly.

“Rainbow is a pathetic excuse for a taskforce. Incapable of stealth, aggressive members and the civilian casualties they have amassed is unacceptable. I’ve run a handful of missions with some of their members and I can’t stand them” Catra huffs, picking at her nails with a grimace. She freezes and flushes deeply as Adora chuckles and waves off her concern with her gloved hand. Catra lets out a worried breath, crossing her arms protectively and glancing at the blonde. Adora’s smiling at her softly, clearly dazed and lost in a zone. Her eyes flash with something and red spreads across her cheeks and chin. Shaking her head slightly she blinks at Catra, who files away the moment for a later time.

“What about you? Why did you join Alliance?” Adora asks, and Catra grumbles under her breath before pulling off her beanie, dragging a hand through her messy locks of hair. Trapped under the mask they clump, so as she struggles to loosen them with a hand she sighs, preparing herself for the next conversation.

“21 years of _sicario sigilo_ training isn’t the kind of thing that goes on many resumes, and even though I defected from Santa Blanca I had crimes to answer for. General Angella gave me two options. Joining AISOC or going to a _Mexicano_ federal prison for 20 years. I chose to use my skills for good, and applied for this mission as soon as I heard about it” Catra said, tilting her head to the side and smiling softly. Moonlight streams through the open window, and it makes the wisps of Adora’s of golden hair not hidden underneath her hat glow silver in a framing of her face. Her eyes sparkle, a dopey grin carved into her face and pulling at her cheeks. The long red scar twists and turns from her cheekbone to her temple, and the eyelid has a nick in the edge. Catra is mesmerised, the spattering of white spots from shrapnel wounds like freckles across her jaw. Adora starts to lean in, staring at the soldier, and Catra’s heart climbs into her throat and warm coals settle in her gut as she moves towards the blonde. Gunfire sounds out in the distance and they both flinch, leaping up and crouching behind the window frame. Catra already has her weapon drawn, and Adora cradles her rifle in her arms as she fiddles with her binoculars and cautiously peeks out the window. Three _sicarios_ are standing above the body of a civilian woman who wandered too close to their camp, and one prods her body with his foot, wiping the sticky blood of it with a rag that hangs from his belt. Catra growls lowly, storming towards the bed and curling up on it, not even bothering to take off any of her weaponry or gear. Adora sighs, leaning back in the chair and staring out the window in concentration at the mangled and grey trees that bare no fruit ever since the cartel arrived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catra: oh no she was staring at my scar because it's ugly :`(  
> Adora: i can't talk rn im doing hot girl shit *has gay panic because she thinks scars on women are hot + 10 second filthy fantasy involving that one exposed canine and Adora's lower lip*
> 
> Pronunciation:   
> Mexicano = meh-he-car-no  
> Pachamama = Pack-ah-mah-mah  
> Tejedoras de Sombras = teh-heh-door-as de sombras


	3. Have you ever fallen for a girl with different coloured eyes?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora eats salteñas.
> 
> Glimmer stops the gay agenda.
> 
> Catra spreads the gay agenda.
> 
> Bow screams at least once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. That's a real song lyric. The song is Sydney From A 747 by Paul Kelly.  
> I'm so sorry for not updating in ages. Our family went on holiday to somewhere that had no internet connection (except when I piggybacked on my father's WiFi) and I didn't have my computer.  
> NEWS:  
> \- I may be turning You Should See Me In Your Crown into a collaborative work and handing over the next few chapters. I've gotten nowhere on Shadow Weaver's arrest, and I apologise.  
> \- imagine having the audacity to eat unseasoned chicken will not be a oneshot. I am writing chapter 2 with difficulty. It is including Scorpia, and much worldbuilding and backstory for the future chapters.  
> \- I will be updating the tags to Major Character Death for reasons. If you want to know who dies, don't ask. My sister punched me when I told her who will be offed by me. Netossa is the agent who is discussed as being dead in the first chapter, btw. Normally I would not off a POC character, but there are not many white characters in this shown to choose from and she fit the description and purpose of Ricky Sandoval. I'm sorry Netossa stans and to myself. IDK why I punish myself like this oh well.  
> tw // implied/referenced sex, injury detail, unbridled chaos, implied/referenced execution, implied/referenced torture. Nothing serious, only a passing mention.

“How many hours has it been since we last made contact?” Adora asks quietly, picking at her facial scar with freshly clipped nails and pacing around the room. She stops and blushes when she spies Catra shaking her head in disapproval _. It’ll bleed if you keep picking at the wound, gatita asenina_ she heard her murmur quietly while wringing her hands and trembling. Adora didn’t ask, and Bow probably didn’t hear it. He’s far too engrossed in his laptop, leg anxiously bouncing hard enough to rattle the table.

“We got separated 7 hours and 33 minutes ago. Her GPS went offline at the same time. Protocol dictates that we send out a retrieval team in 13 hours for- yeah” he trails off, scraping at the back of his head nervously.

“Flash isn’t dead. No. She got into Bolivia by stealing tequila from an illegal brewery and staying drunk on the bus for 30 goddam hours. Some bruto fuckhead cabrones with an ego more fragile than glass aren’t going to get rid of her” Catra insists, standing up and kicking her chair.

“I say we go and find her. Even if she’s dead, we can get the intel off her body. Hopefully” Adora sighs, rubbing at her face to relieve the numb feeling of panic residing in her flesh.

“All her electronic devices cut off here, near La Carcel Del Pueblo in San Mateo, 5 hours before now” he reports, as Catra _spasms_ slightly in her seat and races towards the laptop.

“No. No. Fuck fuck. La Carcel Del Pueblo is a massive cartel run prison for rebels built inside a hybrid mountain and canyon. If she’s there she could already be dead or being tortured” Catra says, voice sharp and strong as steel. She pulls on her plate carrier vest, clipping on the high-strength shoulder pads and shaking out her limbs.

“Dead!?” Bow shrieks, slamming his laptop shut and strapping it onto his own armour.

“Probably by hanging. Sicarios have a sick sense of violence” she mutters, and Adora pats Bow on the shoulder as he cries out in fear.

“It’s encourage and rewarded from a young age, Hunter. I’d get extra food that night for any animals I killed with my own hands and brought back to the camp. Don’t expect anything more humane” she says quietly, and he whimpers into the crook of his elbow while Adora throws her a _shut up you’re upsetting him_ look.

They don’t even get out the door of their shitty stone brick safe house in the middle of the desert before someone kicks the door weakly, groaning loudly.

“Knock knock. I think there was a password I don’t remember it. Open the door” the soldier grumbles in pain and exhaustion as Catra presses her ear to the metal door. Opening it slowly she stares at the agent, dumbfounded and impressed.

Glimmer looks the image of a survivor by holy and unexplainable intent. Caked in blood and grime, Catra realises her rifle and LMG are missing and her helmet is cracked in two. A black duffel bag (with sticky red and brown liquid dripping from a corner) hangs off her right shoulder, her left arm in a makeshift sling made from white bloodstained fabric. She drops the duffel bag, heavy enough to make a thump against the concrete Catra feels in her _lungs_. She pulls a watch out of the pocket of her pants, and the straps are somehow missing entirely.

“Good morning fuckers” she mumbles before collapsing into Adora’s arms like a true dramatic.

“The intel is in the backpack. My phone broke and I couldn’t take a photo so I stole the clipboard and blew up the office building where it was instead” she whispers, letting Adora hastily unbuckle her hefty shoulder pad (the other one is completely absent) while humming with soft content, somehow enjoying the feel of filthy concrete floor beneath her bruised body.. Catra starts rifling through the bag, searching for the aforementioned clipboard. It’s hard to find in the bag of junk, so Catra decides to just remove everything else instead. 3 bottles of homebrew bootleg alcohol, a roll of very bloody bandages, a copy of the Santa Muerte Bible, a dead rat, a grenade belt and a pair of sandals are the first things to come out, as Adora starts watching in fascination while Catra empties the bag carefully (the belt of grenades has put her on high alert). Bow cuts open Glimmer’s shirt with a knife, checking for wounds anywhere on her body as the girl snores peacefully.

“What the fucking fuck” Catra asks in awe, taking out 2 kg of packaged Santa Blanca premium cocaine, several pottery shards, a gold engraved pistol with and the words Dama Asenina carved into the suppressor, a teacup, canned soup and a human skull before turning to Adora, holding up the polished item.

“Who’s fucking duffel bag is this?!” she asks Glimmer, who jolts upright even at Bow’s loud protests and attempts to push her back into a recovery position.

“I just stealthily entered the third story office without raising the alarm because most of the guards were busy watching a public murder execution thing I don’t know. And then a Santa Blanca lieutenant stumbled into the office with this sicario, kissing and full on about to fuck each other right on the desk, very kinky. So I shot the sicario and the lieutenant was pissed so I shot him but he broke my phone by kicking my leg pocket so I just grabbed the clipboard, shoved it in some bag near the door and rigged the office to blow. It broke my helmet with shrapnel but I was fine so I snuck out, shot some people and hid in a bush” she recites loudly in one huge paragraph, barely allowing her squad time to understand what she’s saying. Catra glances at Adora, who looks like she has yet to process the moment Glimmer walked into the room.

“I heard the explosion and had to get back to the car. How did you escape?” Bow asks, wiping away the blood from her face and arms and pressing a warm wet cloth to her stomach.

“But then reinforcements rolled up and I had to go on foot. Found the prison and killed a guard and took his shirt sleeve for the sling. Then that raised the alarm. So I ran away towards our safehouse. Punched an anteater. Found a lovely couple cooking homebrew in an old abattoir, killed a sicario squad attacking them, they gave me three bottles of their premium batch in gratitude. Walked back here for 5 hours. You’re welcome” she sighs, content with lying down and closing her eyes again. Bow looks up at Adora, blinking in shock.

“She isn’t bleeding. That’s not her blood” he whispers, and Catra facepalms loudly, rummaging through the bag and taking out the mud-stained and bloody clipboard.

“It’s times that the truck carrying bodies for the cartel arrives at El Pozolero’s home base. The next one is in 7 days. It’s also got it’s route through San Mateo and it’s radio signal” Catra says, handing over the papers to Adora and letting her skim it.

“Good job Flash. I don’t know how the holy fuck you are alive and I’m pretty sure you hallucinated most of your mission but you got the clipboard at least. You should rest for a few days, me ‘n Weaver will take care of any other business outside of the safehouse. You did well soldier” she praises, throwing a smile at the American. Glimmer salutes weakly, as Bow lifts her onto his shoulders and carries her towards the softest bed they have. Adora beckons over Catra, pulling her own weapons off a coat-hanger and pulling a linen screen that covers the barred windows away to glance outside. The moonlight and bright stars illuminate the dead campfire outside, and after a few seconds she confirms that it’s safe to leave.

It’s only once they’re both in a small sedan, cruising down a busy road past a few small shops and avoiding the attention of patrolling sicarios that either of them speak.

“I don’t think we should try drinking the alcohol Flash… acquired” Catra says, so deadpan and serious that Adora barks out a laugh.

“I’m still convinced she had a swig and hallucinated the whole thing” she adds, and the woman chuckles at her, voice soft and gentle. The glow of streetlights pass over her like scanning beams of gold light, and Adora has to tear her eyes back to the road to avoid a collision.

“I couldn’t help but notice your suggestion that we leave the house for a few days. Do you have anything planned?” she asks, and Adora swallows, face blushing as she imagines what could happen with a few days of them alone.

“Kill some sicarios, get some intel and become friends?” she suggests, wary and unsure about how the two of them stand. Since their interrupted near-kiss intimacy last week, they’ve barely had a moment alone without Bow or Glimmer either with them or on mission. A few days alone feels as enticing and illicit as it does frightening, and she grips the steering wheel tight at the onslaught of contrasting emotions.

“Do you want that? To be friends?” Catra asks, reclining in her seat and propping her feet up on the dashboard. Adora doesn’t feel like scolding her for being unsafe in the car, when the stretch of her muscles, even under faded cargo pants and an assortment of weaponry, is so tantalizing that she feels her mouth drain of all it’s moisture.

“I don’t know. I want whatever you’re okay with, or going to give me” Adora says quietly, staring directly at the Santa Blanca _checkpoint_ before them. A sicario carrying an automatic rifle with a skull design painted onto its frame gestures at them angrily.

“I’ll deal with this, Nomad, then we’re going to discuss our relationship like reasonable adults” she laughs, before leaning out the window and yelling something in Spanish to the sicario. Adora carefully watches her bluff, possibly seduce and threaten her way through the blockade. She hears the names of several high ranking officers and leader in the cartel mentioned, and can translate a sizable portion from the basic Spanish lessons she’d taken before this operation.

“Told you I could handle him” Catra smirks, propping her feet back up on the dashboard. Adora glances at her as they pull away, taking exits and turns when Catra says so.

“What did you tell them?” she asks. Dawn is starting to rise now, and the rough dirt road beneath them crunches and grinds under their car’s wheels.

“That we’re hired mercenaries, and it was in their better interest that we are let through. Usual bluffing and appeasing to some blockheads” she answers, grinning under her balaclava. They continue along roads in comfortable silence,

“This is the house” Catra murmurs, staring at the building before them. It would be generous to call it beautiful, but the 2 stories, balcony and remote location offer a privacy and luxury that Adora wants to relish in. The car stops in the driveway, and Adora barely hears two belt buckles unclip before Catra is climbing into her lap, staring into her eyes and stripping off her headset, beanie and balaclava. She hangs her AR communication glasses on the collar of her undershirt, drawing Adora’s gaze to the tantalizing patch of dark brown skin between the collars of her red shirt.

“What do you want, Nomad?” she asks, gently removing the blonde’s own mask and gear, staring into her soul through the ocean blue swirls in her eyes. Adora gapes at her, hands shaking before she settles them on her waist and gasps when Catra presses down on her hips, grinding slowly and smirking at her.

“You. Now” she begs, voice coarse and gravelly. Catra hums thoughtfully, tracing a finger along the edges of her biceps, which peek out from underneath her short sleeved flannel.

“Wonderful” she whispers, lips grazing the tendons in the blonde’s neck. They both stumble out of the car, racing to the front door as Catra unlocks it with a pair of keys stashed in her back pocket. They both walk upstairs to the master bedroom, laughing through their deep sighs and breathy whimpers.

A night of de-stressing is good, after the pressure of the last weeks and dangerous work.

\---

Consciousness is slow to return for Adora, but it’s no unpleasant experience. There’s something warm and soft curled against her bare stomach, and it rumbles like an idle and well-kept engine. As the smell of coffee and rich meaty food drift into her bubble of blissful sleep she groans, rolling over slightly. The engine moves away, and she shamefully whines in mourning and reaches for the warmth, eyes still pressed into the pillow.

“You’re awake. It’s taken you long enough. Do you know you slept for 5 hours after round… I lost count after 4” a woman asks, and Adora sits up groggily, shoving rebellious blonde hair out of her face. Catra’s wearing nothing but a leather jacket and boxer shorts, propping her feet on the bedframe, and Adora just stares. Absorbing the dark brown marks on her neck and chest, a hickey on her thigh and her dishevelled hair, her daze is only snapped when Catra laughs at her, handing over a plate of small baked pastries and a mug of coffee.

“Have breakfast, idiot. We’re heading back out today to a recycling yard turned rebel hideout overrun by the cartel, to free some prisoners” she smiles, as Adora greedily wolfs down the small dough packets of meat stew and vegetables.

“I knew you’d like Salteñas. There is a deep-fried version I can buy you later today” she grins, taking the plate away from Adora and strolling out the bedroom door. A cat immediately climbs into the blonde’s lap, rubbing their body along her bare thighs.

“Melog likes you. The two of you were sleeping together before. It was very cute” Catra calls from the other room, as Adora strokes down their back and rubs behind their ears.

“Melog?” she questions, as Catra chuckles, walking back into the room. She sheds her jacket and climbs back into the bed, cuddling Adora and smiling at Melog. The cat basks in the praise, clothing their shining aqua eyes and purring deeply.

“One of my ex-flings was an Argentinean actress meeting Carzita in Agua Verde. I adopted a stray cat and it killed a rat in her apartment when I visited. She named him Melog after the old Jewish tales she heard as a child. I’ve kept him ever since” she tells Adora, who wraps her into an embrace and kisses the tattoos along her shoulder and biceps. The kisses turn heated, their breathing turned weighted and dark.

“Another round?” she whispers against the agent’s jaw, and the moan that follows is as much an answer as any words. They ignore Melog leaving the room quietly as they become wrapped up in each other’s bodies again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have many many stupid AU ideas and I wanna know what ones you guys would rather me try and draft up and maybe post:  
> Jurassic Park AU  
> Red Dead Redemption 2 AU  
> Ready Player One AU  
> TinTin AU  
> Days Of Future Past AU  
> X-23 AU  
> I already wrote some of the Red Dead one and I'm having a blast with the setting and characters.  
> Also I drew the final moments of Chapter 2. No, I won't be editing it in any way. It's finished.  
> https://photos.google.com/photo/AF1QipPI8SDj3YIXa36Dp-LGoLG197HdsndsTRrX0CrC

**Author's Note:**

> Lol Adora getting called a Yankee/Yanqui by the Bolivians because they don't recognise the difference between an Australian and an American accent. A rural Australian accent just sounds like a Tennessee drawl with different vowel sounds lmaoooooooo.
> 
> Yeah we gon' go into some Shadow Weaver bullshit soon.
> 
> I'm going to draw Mermista in that leather jacket, southern water tribe t-shirt and black jeans mmmmmmmmmmmm ma'am I do adore when women.
> 
> I love me some delicious comments on feedback. If y'all wanna smut scene gimme a shout and I'll arrange it (either gather the courage or get a friend to write it lol)
> 
> I am updating my other fics y'all don't judge please.


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